


Autumn Rain

by Empatheia



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-20
Updated: 2008-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Empatheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She speaks the language of flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic, cross-posted from FFNet. Written for a flashfic comm on LJ.

_Many things grow in the garden that were never sown there._

-        _Thomas Fuller_

_Gardens always mean something else. Man absolutely uses one thing to say another._

-        _Robert Harbison_

 

**x**

 

The garden of Ursa was a wonder well known, even amongst those who cared little for growing things or natural beauty. Everything would grow there, even things which were not supposed to. Earth Kingdom trees grew harmoniously around patches of Air Nomad herbs and exotic flowers from islands no one had even named yet. The air had a mingled fragrance found nowhere else.

 

Those who remembered the banishment of Ursa's mother looked at it askance and wondered quietly amongst themselves whether her daughter didn't share the same unfortunate penchant for practicing witchcraft. They said nothing out loud, for Ozai would tolerate no words against his wife. Whether this was out of love for her or his own pride was ever unclear. The latter was more widely accepted; Ozai would not suffer anyone to think that any of his possessions were less than perfect.

 

Ursa never said a word one way or the other. She was simply a quiet girl, with knowing eyes and a disarming smile, and whatever she touched grew and blossomed. Whomever came by her garden left with a flower. She never explained how she chose which flower was right for which person, but each person left feeling both warm and accepted and vaguely unsettled. It was as if she was speaking to them through the flowers in a language they did not know.

 

Not an unfair assumption, because she was.

 

Ursa's mother had been a witch. It was said that she still lived somewhere in the Earth Kingdom, on a mountainside, with her cat and her garden and her madness. Ursa didn't know. Her mother had been banished a year after birth and she hardly remembered her, but Ursa's mother, being a witch, had found a way to leave a piece of herself behind. The palace gardener found Ursa when she turned eight and took her under his tutelage. To outside eyes, he was teaching her how to grow healing herbs and mix them into medicine like a good wife— and he was, but beyond that he was also teaching her an ancient language no one else bothered to remember anymore.

 

"A bouquet for you, my lady."

 

_Snapdragon, for presumption. My future love life is none of your concern._

 

"For you, my lord."

 

_Stephanotis and statice, for good luck and success. I wish you well._

 

"Take this, love, and run back to your mother."

 

_Freesia, for the spirited. Keep your head up even when it becomes very heavy._

 

The court was a place where speaking freely was ill advised, and opinions were unfashionable accessories for women. Ursa knew to keep her mouth prudently shut, her eyes modestly downcast, her smile chaste. She was the perfect nobleman's daughter; quiet but intelligent, lovely but demure, talented enough to work hard without seeming to, a good firebender but not a threat. To the eyes of the world she kept herself flawless, a painted image of perfection.

 

Below their notice, she told each noble and lady and servant around her what she truly thought of them, each message disguised in the innocuous petals of her flowers. Her flowers spoke truth even as her mouth spoke diplomatic lies.

 

"For you, Ling."

 

_A yellow carnation, for cheer, for my favourite servant. You brighten my day._

 

"A gift, Commander."

 

_Nasturtium, for patriotism. You honour your country._

 

"My condolences, lady."

 

_Poppy, for consolation. Your son died well, and long ago. Have pride and dry your tears._

 

"For you, lord."

 

_Violets, for faithfulness. Don't think your indiscretions go unnoticed._

 

"Commander."

 

_Stargazer, for ambition. I see how your eyes climb ahead of you._

 

Ursa came of age as a beautiful woman of seventeen with long coal-dark hair and tea-warm eyes. Her manner was gentle and her skin soft, except for her hands which were callused from the spade. Her doorway filled with hopeful suitors. She was kind to each of them in turn, no matter how cold or boorish or ugly they were. Each of them left with a flower in their bemused hands and a parting smile, and none of them were given more hope than any other.

 

It was not up to her to decide, after all. Her parents would inspect each prospect in minute detail and make the decision for the family, not for her. Ursa had always known this and knew better than to fight openly.

 

"Lord Gong-Sun."

 

_Lavender, for distrust. You have two faces._

 

"Lord Ou-Yang."

 

_A striped carnation, for refusal. You have no chance, and I am glad for that._

 

"General Piandao."

 

_Star hyacinths, for hope, and black-eyed susan for encouragement. An ill-fated wish on my part_ _;_ _my parents will never choose you, but you have my affections._

 

The one man she wished most would come a-courting— one Lord Iroh, son of the current Firelord— was possibly the only eligible man who did not. He was a great friend to her family, and to her, and had he come calling with that intention her parents would have thrown her at him with their teary blessings. She gave him yellow chrysanthemums (for ' _secret admirer'_ ) every time he came to visit and swallowed the wishes of her heart. They sat like stones in her belly, because while he visited often, he did not come for _her_.

 

Ming-Lei, the woman he eventually married, was a wonderful woman to be sure, a childhood playmate of Ursa's. However, without arrogance, Ursa knew herself to be the better match for him.

 

She could not find the courage to ask him why he had chosen her silly thoughtlessness and awkward charm over Ursa's sharp mind and deep passion, but she found out soon enough anyway.

 

"For you, Prince Ozai."

 

_Calla lily, for your regal bearing. Magnolia, for dignity. One red rhododendron blossom in a china cup, because you frighten me._

 

Ursa loved Iroh because he was worthy of love, and he was worthy of it because he was not a man who could in good conscience court the woman his brother desired. Iroh loved peace above all things. A conflict between himself and Ozai was not something he was willing to create, even for the sake of the woman he was beginning to love.

 

The day she was informed of the formal betrothal to Ozai, Ursa stayed in her garden till well after midnight, touching one plant after another, watering and tending and singing softly to them in tones too quiet to make out. Gladiolus, for strength of character. Holly for domestic happiness. White roses for purity, white-and-red for unity, purple tulips for royalty.

 

The soil welcomed her tears, an unexpected autumn rain.

 

**X**


End file.
